


Sweet Night

by therestlessbrook



Series: sweet [6]
Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 09:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessbrook/pseuds/therestlessbrook
Summary: Venom takes care of their pregnant girlfriend.





	Sweet Night

You wake to the sound of a window sliding open. There’s a cool breeze, and then you see the curtains flutter as a hulking black form slips into the bedroom. You sit up, blankets falling away from you. Your hand goes instinctively to your belly. It isn’t too big yet, but you’ve had to forgo jeans for the last few weeks. Your heart pounds until you see the familiar features of Venom.

“What are you doing?” you say, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“We were,” they reply, but then you see the two tote bags dangling from their long claws. “But we had… things to do.”

You rub a hand across your eyes. You feel gritty and exhausted, which seems to be your new normal. At least you’re no longer sick twice a day. “Did you rob a grocery store?”

Venom shakes their head. You can see more of Eddie in the gesture, particularly in the twist of their mouth when they reply, “No.” A pause, consideration, then they add, “Someone else did. We ate the person responsible before doing our shopping.”

“Wonder if they give you discounts for that,” you mutter.

“They don’t. We asked.”

You laugh aloud. The sound seems to delight Venom; they drop their bags on the floor and lean in, face close to the crook of your shoulder. You’re used to this; scent is such a bigger thing for the symbiote than it is for you—more often than not, they greet you at the end of the day by pressing their face into your neck and inhaling.

“Hey, big guy,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Why were you shopping at two in the morning?”

They straighten. “You were talking in your sleep.”

You wince. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” they say, at once. “You were speaking of food.” They reach into the bag—a cotton tote Eddie got from work—and withdraw a bag of marshmallows.

Your stomach lurches forward, as if trying to crawl out of your ribcage to reach the food. You hadn’t even realized you were hungry.

“Let me get this straight,” you say, “I was talking in my sleep about candy and so you jumped out a window at two in the morning to get them for me.”

Venom tilts their head, as if mildly bewildered by your question. “Yes.”

Without a word, you drop the bag onto the bed and put your arms around Venom’s shoulders. “I love you,” you murmur into their chest. At once, you feel them draw you closer—arms thick with corded muscle and a small tendril stroking over the swell of your stomach.

“Sweetling.” It is both a nickname and an answer. For a moment, you’re both content to remain that way. And then Venom grumbles quietly, pulling back. Ripples of black run up their arms and legs, and after a few heartbeats, Venom retreats. Eddie stands there. He has that lopsided smile—that’s what won you over, in the beginning. That little half-smile, as if he was laughing at himself.

“Sorry,” he says. He runs his hands over your bare arms. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine.” You pick up the bag of marshmallows. “Do you think we’ll get ants if I eat them in bed?”

“I think any insects that try to infest this apartment will meet an untimely end.”

“Good.”

You end up sitting with your back to the headboard, eating contentedly. Eddie sits beside you; he’s wearing little more than sweats, and not for the first time, you consider how useful it must be to have a symbiote to protect him from the elements when he ventures outside. He doesn’t even have to put on shoes. You regard your swollen ankles with some irritation.

“So how goes the prison interviews?” you ask, nodding at Eddie’s laptop.

His face creases with something like annoyance. “Interview, more like. I went back, and the guards wouldn’t let me see Kasady. Don’t know why.”

Eddie has been working on a series of articles about crime in the Bay Area, ranging from opportunists to serial killers. Part of you wonders if it’s because his editor asked him to do it, or so Venom could find a few more tasty snacks.

Maybe both.

You reach over and lightly poke his cheek with a marshmallow. “You’ll get the story. You always do. Might just require a bit more legwork.”

The corners of his mouth twitch and he rolls over, taking you with him. The bag of marshmallows goes flying and you give a little yelp as you find herself on your back, Eddie grinning down at you. He’s careful, though. His weight doesn’t rest on you, but on the elbows to either side of you. “I’ll show you legwork,” he says, grinning.

“Oh, ha ha,” you answer, but you’re smiling, too. “I’m still hungry, you know.”

The warmth of his body, the presence of him, has your heartbeat picking up.

“Maybe I’ll find a way to distract you,” he murmurs. You can feel the length of his cock, hardening against your thigh. You give a little wriggle, and he draws in a breath. Then he kisses you.

He’s good at this—at drawing the breath from your lips and making you squirm. One of his hands cradles your face, thumb moving along your cheekbone. “You taste like marshmallows,” he says, when he pauses for breath. Your chest is heaving—and since your bust has gone up a size in the last month, it’s quite visible. You can see Eddie’s eyes drawn downward, toward the neckline of your nightgown.

“God you’re beautiful,” he whispers. “I—we’re so lucky.”

And then he is kissing you again, his fingers skimming across your breast. With a little tug, he pulls the fabric down and then his thumb edges around your nipple. It feels like a jolt to your groin; you jerk upward, hips shamelessly rutting against him. His mouth moves down your neck, biting gently, dipping into your collarbone, before he comes to your breasts.

You’ve only become more sensitive during the pregnancy and the sensation of his hot, wet mouth against your breast is nearly enough to make you come. You have come like this before, but it usually takes longer.

“Eddie,” you gasp, running your fingers through his hair. You can feel the little pulses of pleasure gathering in your cunt, clenching and unclenching against nothingness. You want him inside of you—now. Your hands fumble with the hem of his sweatpants and he laughs, giving your breast one last little bit of suction before you manage to grasp his hard cock.

“Inside, please,” you say, your fingers gliding across his length. You can see the symbiote at the edges of his eyes, in the flickers of muscles at his forearms.

“Who are we to deny such a pretty request,” Eddie murmurs, and his voice is deeper, rougher. It’s both of them taking you, even if the symbiote lets Eddie have the reins.

He sinks into you with a single thrust, and you throw your head back, biting back a cry. You have neighbors, and they won’t appreciate listening to what sounds like pay-per-view porn. “Yes,” you whisper, kissing the side of Eddie’s throat. “Come on. I want to feel—both, come on.” The jumble of words somehow seems to make sense to him, because a moment later, a black tendril extends from Eddie’s body and curls itself around your clit. It feels like a tiny mouth, lapping and sucking, and it’s so good that you shudder against him.

Eddie begins to thrust, and the sensation of his cock moving within you and the symbiote lapping at your clit has you coming embarrassingly quick. You bite down on his shoulder to quiet yourself and that seems to make him thrust a little harder, a little more unevenly. “Yes,” he growls, and his voice is all gravel and smoke. You lay beneath him, quivering with the aftershocks of your orgasm, when he comes. He lets out a breathless little cry and buries his face in your shoulder, cock twitching within you. Your hands rest on his back, and for several moments, you remain that way. So deeply entwined that you may as well be one person—rather than three.

When he rolls off of you, he reaches for the box of tissue beside the bed. You take it, pressing the paper between your legs so you won’t stain another set of sheets. You see the red mark on his shoulder and feel a wave of regret. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to bite that hard.”

Eddie shakes his head. He pulls you against him, tucking his body around yours. “It’s fine. We liked it.”

“You’re both good?” you ask, yawning.

“Always,” he answers, and pulls you closer.


End file.
